Hawaiian Wedding

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

It was an unseasonably warm evening in late February when Remy confided to Lane the problems he was running into with planning their wedding. Well, problems wasn’t the right word for it…more like snags, really, as they were little things here and there, but Lane knew Remy well enough to recognize when something was bothering him. They sat on the balcony of Lane’s condo downtown, looking out over the dark rapids of the James River and sharing a bottle of wine as they snuggled together beneath a large stadium blanket on a wicker loveseat. From the contemplative look on his lover’s face, Lane knew Remy was thinking about the wedding again. Even with grant proposals taking up the bulk of his time, his mind drifted to their impending nuptials whenever there was a quiet moment.

Resting his head on Remy’s shoulder, Lane sipped at his wine. “Let me guess,” he murmured into his glass. “You’re a million miles away right now, somewhere on the sandy shores of Maui.”

With a soft laugh, Remy stirred and draped an arm around Lane’s shoulders to hold him close. “It’s only about four thousand and seven hundred miles away. I checked.”

“That’s as the crow flies,” Lane pointed out. “What about Delta?”

“American Airlines is cheaper.” Remy’s voice was distant, distracted. Lane sat up and looked at him, amused. When he saw the expression on Lane’s face, he smiled. “What? I looked it up already. This better last forever because that’s about how long we’re going to be paying for it.”

Lane leaned forward and kissed the tip of Remy’s nose. “It will last forever. I love you—”

“And I love you,” Remy said, leaning in to claim a real kiss.

Lane grinned against his mouth. “And soon we’ll have the credit card bills to prove just how much. Now, tell me, what’s on your mind?”

Remy sighed. “So much of this is out of my hands, and I hate it. I don’t know squat about the location—I can’t check out caterers, or hotels, or anything, without making a trip out there and I can’t afford that.”

“You can look online,” Lane suggested.

But Remy shook his head. “It’s not the same. How do I know I’m getting the right price? How do I know the place looks like what it says it looks like? The website might make it seem like the Ritz Carlton and then when we show up, we find out we’re staying at the Econolodge. I’m not spending a thousand dollars for a travel package just to land in a dive hotel. I want only the best for us, damn it. Is that asking too much?”

Lane cuddled up against Remy again and looked out at the lights of the city across the river from his condo. “Well, I know you’ve been looking around online. What do all the sites suggest?”

“They say to hire a wedding planner in the area.” Remy scoffed and downed the last of his wine, throwing his head back to finish off the glass. “How am I supposed to pick someone I don’t know to manage and plan the single most important day of my entire life?”

Hugging him tight, Lane grinned into his shoulder. “You really have a lot riding on this wedding for someone who’s already been married once.”

“I want this one to stick.” Remy rubbed Lane’s shoulder, then brought his hand up to run it through Lane’s thick dark hair. His touch was soothing and warm, and Lane melted beneath it. As Remy’s fingers stroked his temple, Lane almost felt as if he might begin to purr. Softly, Remy murmured, “If only I knew someone who lived out there…”

Suddenly Lane sat up. “I do.”

Remy frowned at him. “You do? In Hawaii? Who?”

But Lane was scrambling for the phone in his pocket. “Michelle Banks. Shelly. A girl I knew back in high school.” Quickly he keyed in the code to unlock his iPhone and tapped the f*******: app. As he waited for it to load, he told Remy, “Her locker was right next to mine and we sort of hung out with the same crowd, though I always thought she was a little weird. Dressed in black all the time, wore a lot of makeup, teased her hair out to here—you know the type.”

Remy laughed. “Gotta love the eighties. Let me guess, she was a drama geek, too, right?”

Lane grinned without looking up from his phone. “How’d you know? Definitely wasn’t a cheerleader. Into art and all that. Some of the rich bitches called her Smelly Shelly in PE class in ninth grade, or at least they did until she punched Jenny Davies in the nose after school and that was the end of that. Shelly got suspension and the clique steered clear of her once they knew she wasn’t above fighting back. Here we go.”

He held out the phone so Remy could see it. On the screen was a f*******: profile page for someone called Chell B. The profile picture was a palm tree silhouetted in the sunset, and the image behind it was of rolling surf. Cautiously, Remy said, “Okay…”

Lane explained, “Last year I got a friend request from Shelly. Calling herself Chell now—I think she pronounces it shell, like seashell, but she spells it with the c. Anyway, she’s apparently connecting with old friends and looked me up. After graduation she moved to Virginia Beach, where she fell in love with the ocean, and somehow or other she ended up in California, where she got into surfing. Twenty years later, she’s in Hawaii and surfs professionally, but she posted something on her wall a while back about starting her own business…”

He scrolled down the screen until he found the post. Aloha! Let me be your Guide 2 the Islands! Experienced kama’aina will give YOU the time of YOUR life! I’ll plan your vacation or wedding so you can relax and ENJOY your stay. Once you visit us, you’ll never want to leave!

Remy squinted at the screen. “Experienced what?”

“Some Hawaiian word,” Lane said. “But see? I know someone out there. You need a planner, she obviously does this—”

“Does she have references?” Remy asked.

Lane sighed as he turned off the phone. “Hon, I know you, and I know you want to do everything yourself if you can. But you can’t, not this. You said it yourself, it’s like what, four thousand miles away?”

“Four thousand seven hundred and some,” Remy admitted.

“You need help.” Lane tucked the phone back into his pocket, then resumed his position beside his lover, wriggling in next to Remy to get comfortable again. “Let Shelly help you. I’ll contact her through f*******: and give her your email, and you two can hash things out. That way she’ll get everything together on her end and all we’ll have to do—” he pulled Remy close to him, snuggling tight against his lover’s chest—”is show up and get hitched.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Remy’s words rumbled through Lane, who leaned back to plant a kiss on the underside of his lover’s chin. “Stop trying to make it so hard.”